


Captain Watson Bites Back

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fatlock, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Humiliation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Military Kink, Safewords, Stuffing, Verbal Humiliation, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Fatlock prompt! Sherlock teases John about the weight he's gained since retiring from the army, bonus points for captain!John putting Sherlock in his place when he's had enough of the snarky comments!</p><p>Feeling pretty stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner so writing fatlock seemed oh so appropriate. Also my dearest love and the best RP partner in the world and I absolutely love Captain Watson putting Sherlock in his place, so this is a little Thanksgiving gift for both Anon, and Fatlockfills. Enjoy, kids. Johnlock. Mentions of Mystrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Watson Bites Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon/gifts), [FatlockFills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/gifts).



John huffed and sighed, staring at himself in the full-length mirror in his and Sherlock's room. They had a wedding to go to next week (Mycroft and Greg Lestrade's, in fact. John still couldn't really believe it), and John had gotten it into his head that he was going to wear his old dress uniform from his army days, knowing how much his partner loved him in uniform (Sherlock's military kink had been a delightful discovery for them both), but there was just one problem.

 

John sighed, jiggling his chubby belly a bit and glaring it where it prevented his trousers from meeting. The bottom of his paunch pushed the flaps of the fancy trousers so far apart that there was absolutely no way they would meet. John rolled his eyes and sighed, because if the trousers were out then the jacket was out too, and the tight belt was _definitely_ a goner. He gave his belly a sad slap and winced when it jiggled.  
  
“Two and a half stone,” came Sherlock's deep voice from the door, making John jump and blush bright red, “in case you wanted the exact number.”  
  
Two and a half stone? God, could it be that much. John looked down at his jiggly belly again, and sighed when he realised the his thighs were also packed into the legs of the trousers like stuffed sausages, and even the seam on his seat felt tighter too. He swallowed. “It's um...it's just a bit of relationship weight. I'll rent a tux for the wedding and start dieting.”  
  
Sherlock smirked and sauntered towards his boyfriend, reaching down and grabbing a handful of soft fat at the bottom of John's belly. “Sure you can lose all of this? You've certainly adjusted to the civilian lifestyle, John. Lazing around on the sofa, ordering takeaway.” He chuckled and leaned down, kissing John's neck. “No wonder you're getting fat.”  
  
John stiffened, and then he looked at Sherlock sharply, grabbing the man's wrist and shaking his head firmly. “Oh no you don't, Holmes. _Get on the bed_.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes widened and he let out a little whine. “But Captain...”  
  
“On the bed, Sherlock. _Now_.”  
  
Sherlock whimpered, but a shiver of pleasure went down his spine. “Clothes on or off, Captain?”  
  
John reached around and slapped Sherlock's arse. “Off,” he growled out, “what else are you good for?”  
  
Sherlock moved quickly, shedding his clothing with fluid, practised movements, and John did the same, smiling happily when Sherlock crawled eagerly onto the bed.  
  
“Is this right, Captain?”  
  
John nodded. “Oh yes, you just need one more thing...” John pulled the suede straps they used regularly in the bedroom out of the drawer of the bedside table, and pinned Sherlock's wrists above his head, tying him quickly and expertly to the headboard. “Disobedient civilians like you need extra discipline,” he said, his voice low with arousal, and Sherlock groaned, his cock twitching between his legs.  
  
“Yes Captain.” Sherlock's voice was breathy and desperate, and John chuckled.  
  
“Look at you,” John hummed, rubbing his belly, “needy little slut. You were talking about my weight earlier, Holmes. Do you think you're funny? Do you think you're... _smart_?” John had been twisting one of the leather straps around in his hands, and on his last word he snapped against Sherlock's thigh and the man squawked, gasping as his cock sprang fully to life. “N-no, Captain, I just -”  
  
“Think you're clever?” John finished, “Think that you're the great Sherlock Holmes, and you can say anything you want to anyone?” John threw the leather strap aside and folded his arms, his own cock standing straight to attention at the sight of Sherlock, tied up and submissive on the bed. “I think I know just the punishment for you,” he said, “so you sit there and think about what you did and I'll be right back.”  
  
John didn't know how or why the idea had sprung into his head, and he really wasn't sure if Sherlock would go along with it, but he knew that if worse came to worse the detective would use their safe word and put a stop to anything he wasn't comfortable with. He left Sherlock on the bed and went into the kitchen, crouching in front of the fridge and pulling out a few things. Half a banoffee pie that Mrs. Hudson had brought them, half a container of pork chow mein from last night's dinner, and finally, because their fridge was woefully understocked, he grabbed the litre of milk from the fridge too. Then he grabbed a fork, and somehow managed to balance everything as he walked back into the bedroom.  
  
“Now,” he said, setting everything down onto the bedside table, “we'll see who's _fat_.” He picked up the chow mein and fork first and climbed on top of his lover, straddling him and trying not to break his confident mask when his belly jiggled at the movement. “You think I'm fat, Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock's eyes were wide. “I...”  
  
John stuck the fork into the chow mein and before Sherlock could finish speaking he shoved a mouthful of cold noodles into the detective's mouth, grinning. Then he reached down and grabbed Sherlock's straining cock. “Well,” he said, “guess what, Sherlock? You don't get to come until you've finished everything I've brought you. Now, can you behave and do as you're told or do I need to get the cock ring?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head. “No Captain, I can be good.”  
  
John chuckled, and then took a bite of the noodles himself, rubbing his pudgy belly and humming. “By the time I'm done with you,” he said, playing with his belly button, “you're going to be so fat that no one will even notice me.” He twirled more noodles around the fork, and then fed Sherlock, barely giving him time to finish one bite before he shoved another into his mouth.  
  
Sherlock ate and ate and ate, and and groaned when the carton was finally done. John tutted, and then shook his head. “Look at you, so pathetic...you're already getting full after half a serving of chow mein.” He poked Sherlock's belly, which was slightly bloated, and then reached down to give Sherlock's cock a stroke, just to keep him interested. To his surprise, he found that his partner was still completely hard, his cock swollen and red with arousal. John gave a groan of need and rolled his hips, hissing when his own hard cock made contact with Sherlock's stretched stomach. “Pie next,” he rasped out, reaching over to grab the dish.  
  
Sherlock groaned. “Captain, please...”  
  
John gave Sherlock's belly a sharp slap, and was rewarded with a sound that sounded almost like a squeal. “Shut up,” he ground out, “what sort of pig will you ever be if you can't even eat a bit of pie?” More like half a pie, but John didn't care. He licked Sherlock's fork clean, and then dug up a huge bite of pie, pressing the gooey, sticky mess to Sherlock's lips. He groaned when Sherlock opened his mouth eagerly and licked all the cream and toffee off the fork, smacking his lips.  
  
John couldn't believe how much that simple action aroused him, and he gasped, shoving bite after bite until Sherlock's belly was straining, fuller and bigger than John had ever seen it before. John set the pie dish aside, wiped the stray cream off Sherlock's lips with his thumb, and then held his thumb in front of Sherlock's mouth, moaning when Sherlock eagerly licked the cream off his fingers. Then he brought his hands down and framed the man's swollen belly reverently, pushing his fingers into the hot, taut mass. “Look at you,” he breathed out, “so big...and all mine.”  
  
Sherlock nodded. “Oh God, yes Captain, all yours.”  
  
John grinned, and then reached over to grab the milk. Sherlock moaned.  
  
“Captain, Captain I can't...it hurts. I don't have any more room.”  
  
John froze for a moment, but Sherlock hadn't said the safe word, and so he simply set the milk back down. “Guess we need to make some more room then,” he said, starting rub Sherlock's belly hard, pressing in a little to shift the food around.  
  
Sherlock whined a little, and then he belched with such a force that it seemed to even surprise him. He reddened immediately, but John's cock suddenly felt even harder, and he started thrusting into Sherlock's swollen belly, gasping.  
  
“Oh God,” he panted, “oh fuck, that's so fucking hot, that's so...God, Sherlock, you're so _fat_.”  
  
Sherlock moaned and reached up, pressing his hands into Sherlock;s soft belly. “Not yet,” he groaned out, “I've got a long way to go before I'm fatter than you...tell me, John, tell me how fat you want me.”  
  
John gasped and reached over to the milk, holding out to his partner. “Drink this,” he said firmly, “and then I'll tell you.”  
  
Sherlock tilted the bottle to his lips and began to chug, moaning as rivulets of milk ran down the sides of his face, and John gasped as he _saw_ Sherlock physically bloating even more as he gulped down the litre. When it was halfway done, the detective pulled it away from his lips. “I really can't,” he gasped, but his eyes were desperate.  
  
 _He doesn't want to safe word_ , John realised with a start of surprise, and then he took the milk from his lover and set it back on the bedside table. “You did well,” he purred, rubbing Sherlock's huge mound of belly, “my sweet little piggy. With some more work we could make you into a proper hog, hmm?” He shifted Sherlock's belly in his hands and moaned when it actually _sloshed_.  
  
“Can you still...Captain, will you please tell me -”  
  
“Huge,” John said, cutting the detective off before he could even finish his question. He brought his hand down to start jerking Sherlock's painfully hard cock and then began to rut against the man's belly again, gasping and grunting with each thrust. “I want you enormous. So fat you have to waddle around your crime scenes; so fat that the tabloids publish pictures of you. Sherlock -” thrust, “Holmes -” thrust, “the consulting blimp. I want you so fat that everyone knows you're _mine_.”  
  
Sherlock came with a cry, splattering John's hand and the underside of his belly with come, and then with a shuddering gasp John came too, falling onto the bed beside Sherlock and panting with exertion. After a few moments, he rolled onto his side and gathered Sherlock into his arms, kissing the man's head gently. “You okay, love?” He asked softly, Captain Watson having been put away until their next game.  
  
Sherlock groaned, nodded, and then looked down at his mountainous belly. “My God...” he touched it gingerly, “I'm massive.”  
  
John hummed in agreement. “Hmm...yes, you are.” He began rubbing Sherlock's belly again, to soothe the ache of overeating.  
  
Sherlock smiled softly. “You know you jiggle now, when you thrust into me.”  
  
John rolled his eyes. “God, I know...do you want me to lose weight?”  
  
Sherlock looked at John seriously. “Absolutely not.”  
  
John blinked, and then swallowed, gearing himself up for the next question. “And I...would you like to play this game again?”  
  
Sherlock paused, and then pressed John's hand hard into his taut belly. “Well,” he said calmly, “however are we going to get me waddling if we don't?”  
  
If John hadn't just come, those words alone would have made him come again.  
  
“So,” he said fondly, “the game is on.”  
  
Sherlock smirked. “Oh yes, Captain Watson. It certainly is.”


End file.
